When Naoise awoke, she was in a room nearly identical to the one she'd held Mox in. Crimson walls, pristine sheets, and morning sunlight pouring in from a pair of windows set into the far wall. There were no mists of darkness to be seen. It all lay dormant in the siphon still strapped to her wrist, swirling like smoke in the windows of a home gone up in flames.
Naoise ghosted her fingers over the smooth surface, something trembling in her chest. Breath shaky. It'd listened. She knew for certain in that moment that her darkness had been listening. And it bent to her pleas.
Naoise lay still for a few moments before and attempted to collect herself. Let herself feel the darkness and think one simple thing: Thank you. Then she breathed in deep and returned to the room around her.
From where she lay on her stomach, Naoise turned onto her side, staring out at distant mountain peaks and dark clouds sprinkling snow on the Night Court like powdered sugar over a confection. With even just the first shift, she had been expecting the usual aching pain of morning. The strain of exhaustion, the kind she was most familiar with. Instead there was nothing but pent up energy.
It urged her into stretching her wings in the beams of sunlight as she sat up, stretching her arms out with them. The pull in every muscle was pleasant, reminiscent of early mornings with her father when she was young and unburdened by powers she never asked for.
How long had it been since she'd felt so alive?
Suddenly, the door to the side swung open and Azriel stepped in. In the morning light, he was all tan skin and swirling darkness, dark beautiful wings hovering over him. And a beam of sun lit his hazel eyes to glittering gold, the kind of riches she found herself hungering over like a hoarding dragon. Suddenly, the lingering tendrils of sleep floated away on whatever wind controlling the shadows swaying at his feet.
He froze in his tracks when he noticed her, specifically when she looked over her shoulder and raised a brow.
"Good morning?" she greeted hesitantly. Her wings were still outstretched, glowing pink and red with the light shining through.
He cleared his throat and she could've sworn he averted his eyes the slightest. "How are you after...?"
"Alright," she said. Naoise tucked her wings in again and shifted to face him, well aware of the way her tan button up had unbuttoned in places and now slid off her shoulders, slanting on her breasts. Her trousers slid down through the night as well to show a flash of tanned stomach and the curve of a hip painted in black. She had no interest in hiding away her scars, her tattoos, nor her skin. "Thank you for the transport."
His lip tugged up for a moment. "I didn't do much."
"I'd beg to differ. My wings thank you as well."
Azriel swallowed. They both knew the intimate implications of her daring to mention it, and the very fact that she remembered what he likely assumed she wouldn't. But tell any Illyrian to forget the first time their mate touched their wings, and they wouldn't either. They'd probably attack whoever dared suggest it.
"Are you rested?" he asked, diverting the conversation away.
"More than I've been in over 600 years."
As the bond was singing with his indecision, he wasn't sure whether that was a joke or not.
It wasn't.
"What... happened?"
She raised her eyebrows. "You don't know?"
"Rhys doesn't even know," he admitted. "Not entirely."
ΔΙΑΒΑΖΕΙΣ
A Court of Fate and Failure | Azriel
Fanfiction"What do you know of shame?" "Oh, I know plenty." She fought in the first war, the one that took everything from her, just as it did everyone. 500 years later, she is still fighting in each and every moment. But the day she finds a cause to fight fo...
